


It's All Gonna Be Allright

by turnonmyheels



Series: Empty Spaces [7]
Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-21
Updated: 2012-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-31 12:50:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnonmyheels/pseuds/turnonmyheels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of the Empty Spaces ‘verse but can stand alone.  Set at the end of 4.11 Call of Duty.  Tig goes to check on Gemma.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's All Gonna Be Allright

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _On the Bound_ by Fiona Apple. Thank you Moosesal for the beta

_It’s all gonna be all right  
I believe that it isn't_

The doorknob rattles. Gemma has a momentary flash of panic – did she lock it? Where’s her gun? She drops the joint in the ashtray and reaches inside her purse on the table beside her. The door opens; she pulls out the gun, wraps her finger around the trigger, and pulls down the hammer.

“Gemma?” Tig calls out as he opens the door.

Gemma lets out a breath she wasn’t even aware she was holding. Smoke rolls out of her mouth and she fights back a cough. “Gemma? You okay?”

“Yeah, Tig. I’m fine.” She sighs as she releases the hammer then slides the gun back inside her purse. “What are you doing here?”

Tig shrugs at her as he makes his way through the dark house to the table. He pulls out the chair next to her and sits down. His eyes flit around the room. “You sitting here alone in the dark?”

Gemma picks the joint back up and sucks on it. It’s still lit. She hands it to Tig when she’s finished. “Yeah. What about it?”

He takes it from her and smokes while he looks at her. She shifts in her seat, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. His eyes linger on her face, sliding back and forth between the black eyes and the cuts scattered across her face. There’s a lot to take in. She looks marginally better than she did, but it’s still not pretty.

Tig looks like he’s lost his best friend. Like the state of her face hurts him worse than her. It pisses her off. She can’t fucking stand it when they look at her like she needs protecting. He puts what’s left of the joint in the ashtray and leans forward. He reaches for her face and she flinches. She doesn’t mean to – she’s not the flinching type. He drops his hands but doesn’t take his eyes off of her. She can’t stand the scrutiny. She’s got to put some distance between them.

“You smell like pussy.” He draws back from her exactly the way she wants. It’s not what she said, but the tone. She’s always been able to cut Tig to the bone with nothing but her voice. It’s her number one weapon against him. “You been soaking in it all day?”

His gaze drops to the floor and he leans forward so that his elbows rest on his knees. "Something like that.” 

“Did it help any?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Never does.”

Tig lights a cigarette and hands one to Gemma. They sit quietly, smoking in the dark for long minutes, neither of them looking at the other. The parrot squawks from its perch in the corner. Gemma stubs out her cigarette and goes to cover its cage for the night. When she’s finished she turns around and Tig is right behind her. None of the lights are on in the house, but there’s plenty of light filtering in through the windows from the neighborhood streetlights. A patch falls across his face highlighting his eyes. They’re easily his best feature -- strikingly blue, beautiful and piercing. He reaches for her again and this time she holds her ground. His hands are scarred and callused, a wicked ring on nearly every finger, but his touch is as delicate as a feather. 

“I can’t believe he did this you.”

“I’m a tough old bitch.” Tig looks up into her eyes instead of at her wounds. “This ain’t nothing. Not even worth mentioning.” His eyes flash and she can see him shut down. His breath quickens and he’s not her Tiggy anymore. He’s a sociopath. A cold-blooded killer. The most depraved human being she’s ever met, and that’s saying something. His hands slide from her face, down her throat, and settle on her shoulders. He shakes her a little. 

“Don’t you do that, Gemma. Don’t you dare play this off like it’s nothing. He did this to you, he needs to pay for it.”

“I told you to drop it.” She uses her voice against him again. Snaps out the words, loads them up with command and covers them with disdain.

“And I said no.” His hands are still on her, squeezing her shoulders. It doesn’t hurt yet, but it’s not far off. He’s stopped looking her in the eyes and is staring at the cuts again. “He cut your beautiful face with his fucking rings. He could have blinded you. And you’re defending him? The Gemma I know would have cut off his balls.”

“I got him good, Tiggy.” Gemma softens her voice, lowers it to the husky half-whisper that always calms him down. She reaches up and wraps her hands around his wrists. She runs her thumbs along the inside of them, stroking them gently. His pulse is throbbing. “I got him real good.”

“He’s destroying everything.” He looks back up at her and the killer is gone. He looks like a lost little boy. Lost boys are Gemma’s biggest weakness. Always have been, always will be.  


“I’m gonna fix it,” Gemma says. He leans in and rests his forehead against hers. “I always fix it.”

Tig nods. “Yeah.”

His pulse is slowing beneath her hands. “It’s all gonna be all right.” She lets go of one wrist and touches his face, tilting it up so she can see his eyes again. She traces a finger along his cheekbone and then cups his face. “I promise.” 

“Gemma.” She can barely hear him he says it so quietly. Reverently, like her name is a prayer. He steps forward then and brushes his lips across hers. “Gemma,” he says again and she tangles the hand that was cupping his face into his unruly curls. She kisses him back, soft and sweet. Nothing at all like the other times this has happened. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her against him. He deepens the kiss slowly, somehow managing to keep it light. He holds her like she’s made of glass and she lets him for a moment.

Gemma gentles him out of the kiss and eases him away. “Come on, baby.” She holds out a hand and he takes it. She leads him down the hall into the master bedroom. It’s dark as night in the back of the house so she guides him to the bed and turns on the lamp by the bedside table. She pushes his cut off his shoulders then drapes it on the armchair where Clay usually puts his. His belt is next, then she pulls his shirt off. “Shoes,” she says, and he kicks them off while she undoes his pants. 

He’s still got that look on his face like she’s the Virgin Mary or some kind of delicate fancy crystal. It feels strange and out of place, like a remnant from a past life. It’s been a long time since Gemma’s had kindness and tenderness all wrapped into something like worship from one of her boys. They expect her to be the one tough enough to keep them in line, to force them to handle their shit. Every last one of them. Even Wayne. Tig’s fingers fumble over her clothes but he gets them off. When Gemma’s completely naked she sits down on the edge of the bed and leans back on her hands. 

His eyes track her every movement. She opens her legs and watches him through slitted eyes. Tig drops to his knees and crawls over to kneel between them. She hisses at his first touch against her flesh. He sighs against her, his breath tickling the wiry hairs at the apex of her thighs. “Gemma.” His lips brush across her clit and she spreads her legs wider, opening herself for him. He kisses each thigh, trails his tongue across her belly and swirls it around her hipbone. His fingers follow the path his mouth blazes, drawing lines of heat along her body. She relaxes under the heat of touch, lets herself drift on the sensation. Her eyes close and she leans back onto her elbows, propping her feet on the top of his thighs.

She reaches out with one hand and runs her fingers through his hair while he explores her. It’s been more years than she cares to remember since he’s touched her like this. After John. Everything was always after John. His teeth sink into the fleshy part of her thigh; she gasps and his tongue soothes the spot. It doesn’t hurt, he’s never hurt her, he would never hurt her. She gives him time to get comfortable then guides him back between her legs. She holds him there, playing with his hair while he eats her. His tongue is quick and precise. He laps inside of her until she’s aching for more then he concentrates on tonguing her clit. He licks under the hood then teases it with the tip of his tongue while he slides a finger inside. She melts beneath his caresses, feels all the sharp edges and walls around her start to crumble beneath the tenderness. It warms something inside of her she’d thought had frozen solid. He brings her to the edge and eases her over it. Warmth spreads throughout her body, curling her toes, leaving her gasping in its wake. She tugs on his hair to bring him in for a kiss, but he doesn’t budge. He stays right where he is, never taking his gaze off of hers, working her until she’s crashing over again and again. Her eyes slam shut when he fucks his tongue into her and she feels like the top of her head is coming off she’s coming so hard.

She’s a shaking writhing mess before he’s finally done. By the time he pulls away from her and gently uncurls her legs from behind his neck she feels better than she has for years, since before the change hit and her walls went dry. She feels her feet hit the floor and he nudges her legs closed. Tig stands then and pulls his clothes back on. He tugs her around on the bed until she’s in the right spot. He pulls the covers over her and tucks her in. She reaches for him, wants to pull him down on the bed, kiss him until the taste of her disappears from his mouth, pull him inside her and let him break her apart some more. “Tig--”

“Good night, Gemma.” He brushes her hair off of her forehead and drops a kiss to the corner of her mouth. He pulls his cut on and turns out the bedside light. She can hear him walk through the house and close the door behind him. When she hears his bike start up she rolls onto her side and closes her eyes.

“Good night, Tiggy.” She’s asleep before the thank you leaves her lips.  



End file.
